


Don't mess with  Mister Nice Guy

by fawsley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawsley/pseuds/fawsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when BAMF!John is left all on his own in a dark alley...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't mess with  Mister Nice Guy

God only knew where Sherlock was, because neither Lestrade nor John did.

John wasn’t at all happy at being summoned to a crime scene without Sherlock. When they were together his mind could straggle along and get there in the end, get to wherever it was that Sherlock had neatly arrived at some considerable time before. But alone…

Lestrade seemed to have some sort of misplaced faith in him, probably hoped some of Sherlock’s mind had rubbed off onto John in the few months they’d been working together, though John felt he was nothing more than a D-list pseudo consulting detective at best.

He’d not brought his gun, much as he would have liked to. He had the feeling that, given the right circumstances, Lestrade might just possibly overlook illegal possession of a military firearm but Donovan certainly wouldn’t, and these might not be he right circumstances anyway.

So here he was, on his tod, in a filthy unlit alley in the middle of the night with a killer on the loose and where the hell had Lestrade and his team disappeared off to anyway?

He might not have his gun but he had his wits about him, left hand steady as a rock, every sense on red alert.

‘Just like night patrol in Kandahar all over again,’ he told himself.

But still he never saw or heard the other man’s stealthy approach, knew nothing until the first fierce blow fell.

*´¨)  
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)  
(¸.•´ (¸.•´

 

‘If you don’t stop whinging within the next ten seconds I may have to hurt you again…’

‘I am not whinging.’

‘Sounds like whinging to me.’

‘Do you really expect me to just lie here in contented silence when you’ve been so very generous as to gift me with cracked ribs, bruised kidney, dislocated shoulder and concussion?’

‘And if you don’t shut up about it I’ll be more than happy to add to that tally.’

‘You just dare!’

‘You’re not exactly in a position to fight back. Not that you were in the first place either...’

‘Bastard.’

‘No. Just a highly trained former member of Her Majesty’s British Army with somewhat advanced ability in Operational Close Combat Techniques which have a tendency to flip into automatic if I’m ever unexpectedly whumped from behind in a dark alleyway. Didn't know what I'd done until after I'd done it.’

‘I didn’t whump you. I tapped you on the shoulder.’

‘Yeah, when I was on the lookout for an armed killer. What the hell did you think I was going to do, Sherlock? Offer you a comfy chair and a cup of tea?’

‘Didn’t think you were going to kill me.’

‘Didn’t kill you, though now I really, really wish I had.’

‘Bastard again.’

‘If you don’t shut up I’m going to take you back to hospital.’

‘Oh no you don’t! They said I’d be fine with you looking after me. So you’d better start doing it!’

‘Wasn’t thinking of A&E, was thinking of Barts…’

‘Barts? Why?’

‘Was thinking of Mike and his students and a practical evisceration demonstration…’

‘You are going to be so very sorry when I’m up and about again.’

‘I’m very sorry now.’

‘Sorry that you beat me to a bloodied pulp? That’s more like it. So you should be.’

‘Not what I meant and you know it.’

‘Grrrr…’

‘Grrrr yourself!’

‘Aaaaaggghhhh!’

‘Nope. There’s not going to be a lot of you rolling over and sulking for a while yet… Right! I’m going to take this opportunity to tidy up, clean the fridge, chuck out anything and everything which I know for a fact didn’t come from Sainsbury’s, and then I’m going out.’

‘You can’t leave me! I’m injured! You’re my doctor you have to look after me!’

‘You can have another blanket and a pot of tea and I would make you a sarnie but I know you wouldn’t eat it so I won’t. And then I’m going out!’

‘John…’

‘I’m going downstairs to indulge in some pleasant conversation with our delightful landlady for half an hour or so.’

‘Please… John… Honestly, you were… Well, you were amazing, quite utterly amazing…’

‘Course I was. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.’

‘And it does hurt. Really it does. Those painkillers haven't touched it at all.’

‘I know it hurts, and I’m sorry I got ratty with you, but you were whinging. Which is why once I’ve finished being a good little housewife I’m going out.’

‘But I’ve stopped now…’

‘Yes, thank goodness. But what you need is a nice muscle relaxant, and what I need is a laugh.’

‘By which you mean…’

‘By which I mean this once and only ever this once. Understand?’

‘Oh Doctor Watson I love you! Mrs Hudson’s herbal soothers!'


End file.
